


tell the world to wait outside (just you and I)

by brightlyburning



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dacryphilia, Dom Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dom/sub, M/M, Spanking, Sub Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlyburning/pseuds/brightlyburning
Summary: Sylvain bends forward to kiss him, and Dimitri returns it, his entire broad frame trembling with the urge not to push back too hard. He's a pleasure to kiss as always, wanting and eager and just beginning to trust himself to be vocal, murmuring faint sounds of need against Sylvain's lips. He settles again on his heels when Sylvain pulls back, his mouth starting to swell red, his eye misting with the first fringes of subspace."Hm," Sylvain says, low, thoughtful, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb across Dimitri's shining lower lip, "I'm going to spank you tonight to settle you, just to see how you react to my hand on you, my sub."Dimitri's breath hitches. His hands tighten on his thighs, and he swallows, looking down. "I think I'd-" He shakes his head, obviously remembering Sylvain's expectation that he be honest with his wants, stop couching them in careful language, and how is he so good?He looks Sylvain in the eye and says, steady and clear, "Please."
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 87





	tell the world to wait outside (just you and I)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outofthesun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofthesun/gifts).



Sylvain looks up from his letters at the sound of the door, but Dimitri waves him off before he can straighten from his sprawl on the couch. Instead, he twists to place the papers aside, then observes Dimitri.

His king stands in the little foyer off the living room, back to Sylvain, shoulders a bit high - likely from whatever happened at the council meeting - and removes the burdens of his office. He tugs his white deerskin gloves off his hands with gentle, steady pressure, then lays them atop the entryway table before flexing his fingers, working out the ever-present aching in his scarred palms. No trembling or sharp movements to give pause, good. He unbuttons the stifling formal jacket he wears for council, weighed down with brocade and braiding and other such nonsense, hangs it on the coatrack, and then works his sleek black riding boots off with the help of a shoehorn before standing and reaching inside the entryway table for the slim black box that lives there. Prize in hand, he turns to Sylvain, waiting for his approval.

His expression is worn, his mouth lax - well, that's expected, having to spend all day cooped up with the former Leicester Alliance - but his gaze is clear. A little tense and tired then, probably in need of some stability and comfort, but open to receiving it. Good.

"Come on." Sylvain sits up, parts his thighs, and nods at the space between them. As Dimitri approaches, bare feet soft on the thick-piled carpet, Sylvain takes his reading glasses off and puts them aside with the letters, then watches, smiling, as Dimitri kneels between his legs. 

He'll never get used to it, really: how beautiful Dimitri is, kneeling for him. How far he's come from the tormented submissive who thudded to his knees like he despised it, who'd retreat into himself, glaze-eyed and silent, or shudder in vicious refusal to yield as Sylvain worked him over. This Dimitri sinks to his knees with easy grace, and he gazes up at Sylvain with calm expectation.

"Long day?" Sylvain reaches into Dimitri's hair and undoes the leather tie holding his hair in a queue, not too above himself to scratch Dimitri's scalp just to see the shiver work its way through him.

Dimitri closes his eye and leans back into his hand, his voice rumbling against Sylvain's other hand where he's undoing the ties of Dimitri's linen undershirt, exposing a triangle of pale scarred skin. "Unfortunately so. Leicester nobles never fail to waste time arguing over the pettiest of things." He tilts his cheek into Sylvain's hand as he pulls it back, then returns Sylvain's indulgent smile. "They also never fail to get insulted when I tell them we need to move on to the next council item."

"Yeah, sounds like them." Sylvain thumbs the cut of Dimitri's cheekbone, watching how Dimitri's ash-blond eyelashes fall shut, how some of the tension in his shoulders seeps away. "Collar?"

Dimitri hands up the box, and Sylvain opens it to find the blue silk ribbon collar curled inside. It's frayed at the edges, soft with use, but Sylvain can admit he's sentimental; it's the first collar Dimitri accepted, and while Sylvain waits and sketches and sends letters back and forth with Hilda, working out his future offering, it's more than enough. He sets the box aside and unspools the ribbon, flattening the ends.

Dimitri straightens his shoulders and lets his hands relax on the tops of his thighs. He then tips his chin up, baring the line of his throat, and closes his eye and holds his breath as always - why, Sylvain doesn't know, and at this point it's honestly too endearing to ask - when Sylvain reaches around his neck with the collar, settling it, then pulls the ends to the front and ties the collar shut in a bow. It's a tighter bow these days, the both of them more secure, and he slips his index finger out from beneath it, then draws it up the stubbled line of Dimitri's jaw to rest just beneath his chin.

Dimitri's eye opens and pins Sylvain in place. It's a little narrow with his faint smile, the pale thin skin at the edge fretted with a lacework of fine lines, and yes, okay- 

Sylvain bends forward to kiss him, and Dimitri returns it, his entire broad frame trembling with the urge not to push back too hard. He's a pleasure to kiss as always, wanting and eager and just beginning to trust himself to be vocal, murmuring faint sounds of need against Sylvain's lips. He settles again on his heels when Sylvain pulls back, his mouth starting to swell red, his eye misting with the first fringes of subspace.

"Hm," Sylvain says, low, thoughtful, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb across Dimitri's shining lower lip, "I'm going to spank you tonight to settle you, just to see how you react to my hand on you, my sub."

Dimitri's breath hitches. His hands tighten on his thighs, and he swallows, looking down. "I think I'd-" He shakes his head, obviously remembering Sylvain's expectation that he be honest with his wants, stop couching them in careful language, and how is he so good? 

He looks Sylvain in the eye and says, steady and clear, "Please."

"Very good." Sylvain watches the shiver roll beneath Dimitri's skin with pleased greed curling in his chest, then presses his knee against Dimitri's shoulder, cueing him to stand. 

He takes Dimitri's hand, squeezing just to hear Dimitri swallow, flustered, and leads him to the bedroom. The velvet curtains on the bed are already tied back, a low fire burning in the fireplace, and the sheets and coverlet have been straightened, awaiting them. Thankfully Sylvain's already in his night clothes, loose trousers and a shirt, and so he doesn't need to change into something easier to move in. Dimitri, though- those clothes need to go.

He places Dimitri in the center of the room, backlit by the fire, then slips his hands beneath the hem of Dimitri's shirt before dragging it upward, cloth pooling onto his forearms. His palms skim upward over hard muscle and soft skin marked with scars and downed with light hair. 

Dimitri lets him. He stands quiet and receptive, breathing slow through slightly parted lips, and doesn't move to assist or pull away to insist he do it himself, so afraid of his own vulnerability, and Sylvain could conquer armies with the way it makes him feel: tender and protective and hungry all at once, a need so deep it consumes.

"They really must've run you ragged," he says, and rewards Dimitri's stillness with a thumb circling about his nipple, rubbing his callused skin over where Dimitri's taut and sensitive. 

Dimitri's stomach tightens, his hips canting forward as if in offering, and he says, "I could undress you?"

"That's kind of you." Sylvain leaves off playing with Dimitri's chest and continues pulling the shirt off and over Dimitri's head, watching with a grin as Dimitri emerges from the upside-down shirt: hair a mess, eyepatch a bit askew, blinking owlishly until he finds Sylvain and returns the smile. His expression shifts, goes a little vulnerable, when Sylvain continues, "But I prefer you like this, being so sweet for me, letting me undress you and take care of you," and so Sylvain kisses him, swift and gentle.

Dimitri's shoulders, the same that bear the weight of a continent, loosen and drop at Sylvain's affection. He ducks his head as if to hide his blush, watching Sylvain move away to drop the shirt into the hamper, and then straightens when Sylvain returns.

"How do you want me?" His voice trembles when the backs of Sylvain's hands brush against his half-hard cock. The thin cloth of his smallclothes drags wet over the head of his cock, startling out a soft hiss, as Sylvain works breeches and smallclothes down together. 

Sylvain muffles his own groan as his knees protest being forced to kneel. The war's had its way with him, too: his back aches on cold mornings, and his knees aren't their best these days. "On the bed over my lap," he says, offering his shoulder for Dimitri to brace himself on as he steps out of his clothes.

It's his favorite position. It lets him keep Dimitri close; lets him feel the heave of his side where it presses against Sylvain's stomach, how he shudders and then hitches out a moan or a sob; lets him tighten his thighs around Dimitri's cock to create a channel for him to fuck or loosen them in a tease; best of all, it lets him sweep his free hand over Dimitri's warm, shuddering back while he strikes with the other, soothe him with long strokes or torment him with scratches, or if Dimitri is truly needy, he can give him his fingers to suck.

Besides - he turns away from the hamper again to find Dimitri waiting by the bed, gaze bright and body flushed warm with the heat of the fire - up against the wall feels too impersonal, too much like a punishment, and to his surprise and everlasting enjoyment:

Dimitri, for all his brutal strength and endless passion, his ferocious dedication to his people, is a softer submissive than anyone might ever expect. He adores praise, accepts every kiss or embrace still with a shyness that makes Sylvain want to lavish more upon him, and can sink so easily when he feels safe, go dreamy and accepting with only a few tugs of his collar or a possessive hand curling about his cock.

Sylvain adores him. He could spend endless hours playing with him, exploring him, storing away how Dimitri reacts to every sensation, and at times his greed startles even himself.

Before he can get too caught up in his own thoughts, he takes a seat on the bed, shoving a few of the ridiculous amount of pillows away so Dimitri has room to lie down.

"I'd tell the housekeepers not to put so many on," Dimitri offers, watching Sylvain, "but I think they'd be quite upset."

"What a tragedy, the great pillow stores of the palace going unused." No, wait, this spot on the mattress isn't firm enough; Sylvain moves down the bed to find a sturdier place, then glances up at Dimitri. 

Dimitri looks close already, his lips red and kiss-swollen, his gaze dark, and his expression loosens even more when Sylvain nods down at his lap.

"Come on then, my sub."

Dimitri's chin dips in toward his chest. His cheeks flush, no doubt from him recognizing again the vulnerability of the position: exposed and naked over Sylvain's clothed thighs. But even so, he crawls onto the bed like the lion he is, all rolling limbs and power, his body like immovable stone or a warm wall as he brushes past Sylvain's chest before lowering himself onto Sylvain's thighs. 

Dimitri shifts, the great sheets of muscle on his back tightening, and sighs when Sylvain insinuates a hand between his thighs to cup his cock, the warm heavy weight of his balls, and tug them into place between his thighs. Still soft, but honestly that's no surprise; he's had a lot on his mind, and Sylvain's not enough of an ass - these days - to think Dimitri's lack of erection a reflection on himself.

Sylvain pulls his hand back and runs both across the long line of Dimitri's body: his left spanning the range of his back, tugging gently at Dimitri's collar to watch him shift and settle, head sinking deeper into the pillow; the right stroking the sturdy swell of his thighs, the soft golden hair over the round of his ass, trailing into the crease, as Dimitri's toes uncurl from the sheets. He waits, matching his breathing to Dimitri's, watching the last of the tension seep from him.

He's lovely like this: loose and lax and soft, his blinks becoming longer and fewer and farther between as he settles into Sylvain's control, into his own body. Finally his eye closes, and he relaxes utterly, a heavy adored weight across Sylvain's lap.

"Comfortable?" Sylvain runs his fingernails over Dimitri's ass, scratching lightly to sensitize the skin there. 

"Yes, Sylvain," Dimitri replies, voice low and warm, affection obvious in the rounded sounds of Sylvain's name in his mouth. He prefers to use Sylvain, Sir too military, other names too reminiscent of Cornelia, and Sylvain's never been interested in protocol himself. Just another way they're well-matched.

"Good." Sylvain loops his left index finger beneath the collar, tugs to focus Dimitri's attention. "This is not a punishment." Always good to reinforce that, to remind Dimitri that submission is a source of pleasure and safety, not only or always a humiliation or abasement. "If you want to come, if you can come, do so, but I'm not expecting it and I'm not going to be upset if you don't. Understood?"

Goddess knows Dimitri would tie himself up in knots otherwise, worrying whether Sylvain wants him to come, trying to force himself to, getting farther and farther away from it with each pulse of anxiety.

"Yes, Sylvain." His voice is deep, languid, accepting, and Sylvain strokes the back of his neck in silent reward.

"No need to count. We go until I decide you've had enough. Anything else before I start?"

"Love you," Dimitri mumbles, opening his eye as if to reinforce the importance, and Sylvain doesn't bother stopping the fond smile on his face. Instead he tightens his grip on Dimitri's cheek, a hot streak of arousal settling in his cock as Dimitri sighs and lifts into the pressure, and says,

"I love you too, Dimitri."

The first smack is more sound than contact, and Dimitri, from where he's turned his face into the pillow, huffs a laugh, then arches his back hopefully.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Sylvain says, spanking the other cheek too. He always likes to start slow and teasing; too much pain too quickly drives Dimitri to a place neither of them want to go, and for all Dimitri's stubbornness and frankly obscene pain tolerance, he's come to listen to Sylvain's wishes.

"Well, if you know," Dimitri starts, and then yelps when Sylvain spanks him again and harder, his voice trailing off into a low pleased moan. His cock twitches against Sylvain's thigh.

Goddess, he's wonderful. Sylvain braces his left forearm across the small of Dimitri's back, curling his fingers about the jut of Dimitri's hipbone, and holds him there, waiting for Dimitri to let go of the breath he's holding in anticipation.

There-

He smacks him again, harder, and then sets up a rhythm of fast light blows, watching how Dimitri's fair skin - it holds marks so well, both of Sylvain's adoration and other's hate, and one day Sylvain will cover up all the latter - pinkens up beneath his palm, warms into a steady heat. His cheeks tremble with each spank, and the goosebumps spreading over his skin from the heat of arousal have Sylvain helpless with fondness as he thumbs over the soft hollow where one cheek meets the strength of his thigh before returning to his spanking.

Dimitri jumps at the first hit, the muscles of his back and shoulders tightening, and makes a sound Sylvain can only describe as a giggle. His fingers curl around the edges of the pillow he's resting on, and his parted lips twitch into a smile. His breaths, shaken but even, stir the loose strands of blond hair that've drifted into his face.

"There you go," Sylvain says, pausing to cup and heft and roll each cheek, working the pain deeper, feeling how all the knots in Dimitri's muscles tense and then go loose beneath the steady pressure of his palm. Dimitri's skin radiates warmth, pink and soft, but there's still some lingering tension in the line of his back. "I want," he continues, dipping fingers between Dimitri's cheek to rub a fingertip across Dimitri's entrance, luxuriate in how his sub rocks back into the touch with a pleased murmur, eyelashes fluttering, "to have you cry tonight."

He waits a beat to see if Dimitri tenses, turns away - Goddess, it was a nightmare trying to get him to cry or release any emotion in their first few scenes together - but Dimitri only murmurs, "Yes, Sylvain," and pushes his face deeper into the pillow.

"Beautiful," Sylvain says, and watches the blush and smile spread across Dimitri's face. A bit of shuffling to get himself steadier, get Dimitri hitched closer on his thighs so any sudden movements won't send him rolling off, and then he goes harder.

His shoulder and elbow burn, but it's more than worth it for the joy of it all: getting to act out his dominance on a willing sub who meets him joyfully and eagerly with matching submission, arching back into every hit; the way Dimitri's cheeks, bright red and scalding now, move with each smack; how Dimitri's cock thrusts against his thigh with each drive of his arm; and Dimitri's sounds: grunts and soft moans and pleas for more, more sensation, more love, everything Sylvain wants to overwhelm him with.

He lands two good hits at the crease of each cheek, the side of his hand contacting the backs of Dimitri's thighs, and that does it.

Dimitri goes utterly slack across his thighs, hitches a deep breath that goes in cracked and trembling and comes out as a low sob. A few tears dampen his pale lashes and turning them to old gold where they lie on the plain of his cheek. It's not much - no storm of tears here - but it's enough to see some of the stress of the day, the poison of kingship, leave Dimitri. He manages another gulping breath, another wet sound, and all the while Sylvain rests his burning hand on Dimitri's burning cheeks, runs his free hand over the back of Dimitri's collar and praises him. Who wouldn't? So good, so willing, allowing himself to be open for Sylvain?

He watches with eagle-like gaze as Dimitri slowly stops crying, the pillow beneath his cheek damp with his tears, and then opens his eye. Deep blue, hazed with subspace and the fog of tears, but peaceful as hyacinths atop a still lake.

So Sylvain’s a romantic. He’s earned this.

He reaches up to press his fingertips to Dimitri’s mouth, says, “How are you feeling?”

Dimitri merely blinks at him, slow and languid, and purses his lips over Sylvain’s fingertips, tongue dipping wet and soft between his fingers.

“No words, huh?” Sylvain says, low and fond, all the love of years welling in him. “That’s all right, then. You take all the time you need to come back, my sub.”

Dimitri nips at his fingertips, and oh, all right, Sylvain can scratch his head, too.

**Author's Note:**

> A commission for outofthesun. Title from Carly Rae Jepsen. Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and criticism are adored. I reply to all comments, though it may take me a bit. Check out my various social media and commission info at brightlyburning.carrd.co if you'd like!


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